


Temptation and punishment

by Sierra Roo (SoySierra)



Series: Temptation and punishment [1]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drama, M/M, Romance, Spoliers 3 season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoySierra/pseuds/Sierra%20Roo
Summary: "Beocca told me one day that God put temptations to test us." Alfred seeks his gaze in the gloom. "And then he sent the heathens to punish us for falling into them."For a few seconds, he says no more. Outside, the song of an owl is heard at night. The wind whispers through the trees."How can it be possible?" The king continues after a moment. "How can it be possible that God has sent temptation and punishment in the same person?"Uthred kidnaps the King of Wessex.
Relationships: Alfred the Great/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Series: Temptation and punishment [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939432
Comments: 14
Kudos: 52





	1. Kidnapping

**Author's Note:**

> Translation from my spanish fic "Tentación y castigo" Because I think you deserve to read it without translator mistakes (and cause I need to practice my english too)
> 
> If you are there and want to leave me love, I will be super grateful!

The cold blade rests on the king's throat.  
  
It has been such a rapid and sudden movement that it has left everyone without a chance to prevent it. Beocca screams for sanity but he's already way beyond that. The sanity in him has vanished in the same way that his hope for someday peace has.  
  
Alfred resists but the blade is unforgiving against the delicate skin of his throat. Uthred drags him to the edge of the throne room. He sees one last time the pain in Beocca's gaze, the expressions of fury and rejection of the witnesses to his betrayal. He is sure they think he is crazy and they may be right. Perhaps insanity has always been his guide when making decisions.  
  
Once they are in the hallways, Uthred removes the blade from the king's throat to place it firmly against his back.  
  
"Walk!" He whispers against his ear and Alfred protests but cooperates. He is clever enough to understand that in the irrational state the dane is in, he can be capable of anything.  
  
Outside, the atmosphere is charged. There is an electricity in the air that announces an early storm.

Strangeness floods the place. The way they both walk, with little separation between their bodies, raises questions between the guards and the crowd, but neither is able to understand how to react. Uthred is counting on that as he hurries through the crowd. As soon as he visualizes a horse somewhat separated from its rider, and urges the king to get on it, the guards seem to react. They approach both with shouts of stop and raised swords but Uthred has already positioned himself behind Alfred and pressures the animal to gallop out.  
  
"CLOSE THE DOORS! UTHRED HAS KIDNAPPED THE KING!"  
  
The city is a chaos of guards and commoners who run, scream and stumble. The reality of the situation gradually becoming present in the minds of the people of Winchester.  
  
The doors are closing but the news hasn't come as fast as it should to the guards at the entrance. Uthred smiles internally. Despite his warnings, Alfred has never tightened security of access to the city. Now his stubbornness will cost him dearly.  
  
The horse gallops across the threshold before the archers can position themselves to catch up. A pair of arrows are buried in their flanks before they can hear the voice of one of the generals:   
  
“Halt! You can hurt the king!"  
  
Uthred forces the animal to give everything of itself. He has had the advantage of surprise, but will soon be reached by the riders. He must lose them as soon as possible. They gallop to the outskirts of the city. Uthred can already hear the screams of the riders who have come out to hunt them down.  
  
“It's useless Uthred! End this madness!” Alfred warns him almost breathlessly, but he only hurries the horse to accelerate its march.  
  
He has in his favor the darkness of the night and the closed forest. On a path, it makes a sharp turn into the thicket of trees. He knows the place well. For long minutes, the chase continues.  
  
*

It has started to rain. A small drizzle has suddenly given way to a raging storm. An ominous omen.  
  
Uthred will never be a devoted man. But he cannot deny that there is a force that undoubtedly accompanies him on that occasion. The rain will erase their tracks and drown the sound of their advance.  
  
For long hours, they continue their march avoiding the paths and going deeper and deeper into the forest. The wind howls through the trees, the storm continues to rage without respite. They are both completely drenched.  
  
Uthred does not know if Alfred has tried to speak to him to reason with him during the time they have been riding. The howling of the wind, the thunder, and the leaves churning on the ground precede any other sound. His mind, on the other hand, is somewhere far away, trying to process his next step.  
  
Soon they will have to find a place to shelter. The cold seeps hopelessly between the clothes and Uthred can feel the tremors that assail the king. He can sense his weakness , causing his body to lose strength to hold itself upright. Uthred wraps one of his arms around him, pulling him closer to his chest to hold him steady. Alfred no longer protests at the action. They must hurry up.  
  
*  
  
When they finally reach their destination, Alfred sways like a dead weight in his arms. Uthred has begun to fear for him. He has underestimated the extent of his illness and subjected him to a strenuous march in the rain and cold at the tip of his blade. Guilt closes his throat. But he doesn't have time to think about it.  
  
Lyscombe greets them with deserted streets and empty houses. Memories of Mildrith and their deceased son assail him as soon as he sets foot on the place.

After leaving the faithful animal that has accompanied them in the stable, Uthred helps Alfred to enter one of the huts. He doesn't choose the main hall. Too many ghosts. Alfred is barely holding himself up, and his countenance has turned dangerously pale.  
  
As soon as they are indoors, Alfred seems to come to his senses. Precariously leaning against one of the walls, his eyes scan the place trying to make sense of it.  
  
“We are in Lyscombe.” Uthred answers the question that has not been asked “Or in what remains of it.” He takes a look around him, as he prepares to make a fire and gather the furs that the inhabitants of the place have left behind.  
  
Soon, the light of the flames illuminates the place and the heat gradually drives away the frozen death. Uthred strips off his soaked clothes, tossing them aside.  
  
"What are you doing?" Asks the king from his corner. One of his hands resting firmly against the wall that stabilizes him and the other holding the wet clothes that cover his belly.  
  
“You should do the same. “ Responds Uthred by wrapping himself as fast as he can in one of the furs. “Or you will freeze.”  
  
For a second, contrariness becomes visible on the king's features until outrage seems to win the battle.  
  
“You, Uthred of Bebbanburg will not tell your king to take off his clothes in front of a heathen.”  
  
For a brief moment, it is as if all the weakness is absent giving the illusion of being the same authority figure from when they first met. But it's just an illusion. The instant the words finish coming out of his mouth, an uncontrollable cough suddenly assaults him, causing him to fold in two.  
  
Uthred has no time for that bulshit. In two long strides he is in front of the King of Wessex. With a quick wave of his hand, he removes the crown from his head, throwing it into a corner. Alfred, who did not expect an act of such irreverence, cannot escape his stupefaction at his insolence.  
  
Uthred uses his strength to slam his body against the wall, earning a faint groan from the other. His hands hold him for a second in that position. His hands grasp and stretch the soaked clothing underneath him. One by one, he releases the garments that dresses the king's body. Alfred protests, tries to prevent him trying to stop his wild advance against his privacy but in his condition, he can do little to face the angry Viking.  
  
Uthred can only think of the certain death that staying in icy clothes would entail. He does not think of the humiliation to which he subjects him. He does not, until soon the king is naked in front of him.  
  
He has lost considerable weight and the bones are visible under the pale flesh. Alfred has never been a big man. He has never had the build of a warrior. But the sickly figure that he is carrying at the time shouts his fragility.  
  
The king has stopped fighting and is now keeping his eyes firmly tilted to one side. What he still retains of his dignity, leads him stoically to bear the scrutiny of the other.  
  
Uthred feels a confusion of feelings, a dark triumph mixed with something similar to shame.  
  
The memories of the smell of rotten fruit and the insults of the amused crowd during his walk through the streets of Winchester suddenly assail him. For a second he thinks that the king's nakedness is a fair price for his own humiliation. A proper revenge.  
  
But no ..  
  
It is not what he wants. It has never been in his plans to hurt him, to humiliate him. Regardless of what the Saxon king has done with him in the past.  
  
Uthred again feels the familiar pressure of guilt closing his throat. Shifting his gaze from the pale body in front of him, he grabs one of the furs to cover him as fast as posible.

  
Now he can't help but think that there were other, more civilized ways to get the monarch to listen to him. He could have turned to let the other undress comfortably, he could even have stepped out of the cabin for a moment if privacy was all he needed.

Alfred might be a stubborn man, but he had never been an idiot. His denial responded more to preventing Uthred from seeing the extent of his illness than to religious modesty. Uthred notices this too late.  
  
Suddenly he feels exhausted. The desperate ride in the rain feels like a weight on his shoulders.  
  
With slow movements he searches in one of the corners of the cabin until he finds the crown previously discarded. Pensive, he holds it for a few seconds in his hand. The flames illuminating its contours with lights and shadows. Sitting near the fire, Alfred watches his movements closely.  
  
The Viking finally sighs defeated. He approaches the king and leaves the crown at his side. Neither takes their eyes off the other.  
  
Alfred does not put the crown back on. Utrhed doesn't know what to think about that.

To be continue...


	2. Farewell

He doesn't know exactly what wakes him up. For long seconds, he cannot locate where he is. The familiar but unknown ceiling. A small moan is heard to his right, and then the pieces snap back together.  
  
The king. He has kidnapped the king. They are in Lyscombe. The exhaustion of the ride has made him succumb to fatigue but he must remain alert. Alfred's vassals could arrive at any time. With caution, he approaches one of the windows to observe the surroundings. The rain continues to fall harshly. The rivers surrounding the area will overflow, delaying any attempt to investigate that place. For the moment, they were safe.  
  
At the periphery of his vision, he sees the figure of Alfred stir under the furs. He is not awake but his body is shaking. Uthred places a hand on his forehead. A thin film of sweat bathes his face. Fever.  
  
Uthred curses under his breath . He takes a rag, cuts it, and then heads outside to get it wet in the rain.  
  
 _Uthred._  
  
The whisper is so faint that the Viking fears for a second that it was the product of his imagination.  
  
 _Uthred. Don't go._  
  
The king whispers pleadingly from his bed. Alfred keeps his eyes closed. Uthred doesn't know if he's hallucinating. If the pleading corresponds to the present moment or if it has a much deeper meaning.  
  
*  
  
The king's fever has lasted all night. Uthred has remained with him until the tremors stopped. His name along with that of his wife and children, pronounced several times in the litany of delirium.  
  
It is late in the morning when he decides to inspect the area for provisions. The storm has given way to a light drizzle. The nearby houses are devoid of any type of food, but he has managed to hunt two robust rats. For the moment, they will serve.  
  
He finds Alfred sitting on the makeshift bed of straw when he returns. Deep dark circles under his eyes. The paleness no longer seems to be moving away from his features, but still he seems somewhat better than before.  
  
“At last you are awake. That's good ..”  
  
“I would like to wear my clothes.” The king cut him short. His gaze fixed on the remains of the nearly consumed fire.  
  
“Yes, good morning to you too.” Uthred retaliates annoyed. The compassion and grief generated by the suffering monarch during the night, quickly forgotten.  
  
“Your clothes haven't dried yet. You'll wear that for now.”  
  
Uthred feels strange talking to him like that. Although, he has never been the most devoted of oathmans, only on rare occasions had he spoken to him as an equal.  
  
 _Well, it's time to get used to it,_ he thinks, as he removes the skin from the rats and skewer them over the fire. Alfred had ceased to be his king.  
  
For long minutes, neither of them speaks again. The rain outside and the faint crackling of the fire are the only sounds that flood the place.  
  
“What do you plan to do with me?”Inquires finally the monarch staring at him.

“As you have noticed, my time in this world is shortened every hour. Wessex needs me, so talk. What is your demand?”  
  
If his anger didn't bubble up inside him, Uthred should give Alfred credit for managing to prevail despite being in such adverse circumstances.  
  
"Demand?!" He snaps the question because he realizes that after all the past time, Alfred has never managed to understand him.  
  
“I should take you to Northumbria. Deliver you to my brother and there ask for ransom for your head. A ransom to Wessex for his king which will pay a Viking army, to humiliate the great Saxon nation.”  
  
Alfred tilts his eyes for a moment, nodding quickly. The air of solemnity never leaving him. Uthred doesn't know why the other's gesture disturbs him even more.  
  
“The peace you have always fought for, the dream of a united England, crushed by power struggles between nations. The other kingdoms would dispute the remains of Wessex if there was anything left after their enemies marched upon it.”  
  
There are no tears in Alfred's eyes. There are not. But Uthred can see as if something inside the king breaks a little. When he speaks, his voice has lost a little of its characteristic firmness.  
  
“From what I see my fears have always been well founded. It was a serious mistake to have wanted you to swear loyalty to my son. I must thank God that your betrayal did not reach him during his reign ..”  
  
“Betrayal?!” Uthred stands up unable to continue listening.  
  
"I am the reason your son is in this world! I have always taken care of your children, ALL of them!" Clarifies and notes that Alfred has the decency to blush slightly.  
  
“I have given them too much. To you and your family. I have struggled too much, I have lost ..” His voice falters because suddenly Gisela's death is too fresh in his memory. Alfred, take advantage of the impasse to attack on his own.  
  
“You were compensated. You came to me seeking refuge. You were Uthred from nowhere. I put you in command of my army, I gave you honor, I gave you a place to live.”

The only thing holding Uthred back from hitting him again is the image of Alfred's nudity in his memory. The certainty of pain that never leaves him. Its the only thing.

"I just wanted your respect," he hisses, barely containing his anger.

"When I saved you and your family, when I saved your daughter, when I led the army that would rid Wessex of the Viking threat ..." He sighs, sitting back down, too tired to remember.  
  
“When my wife was called a "whore" in your court I just wanted that, your respect.”  
  
“You speak of respect.” The king's features contort in an unpleasant grimace.  
  
“You speak of respect and it was you who came to me and not the other way around. Defying each one of my orders, making a fool of myself in front of my court, insulting my God and my faith with your pagan customs! You speak of respect as if you really understood what ....!”  
  
Alfred is interrupted. For a moment, closes his eyes and holds on to his belly. When he speaks again, he does it more moderately.  
  
“Gisela's death was an unfortunate event. She was a good woman.”

He opens his eyes again.

“But that did not give you the right to murder one of my monks. As misguided as his words have been. It was not the first time that you murdered a man of faith. Valuable men have been condemned for less than that. I have been too lenient with you. It was my mistake.”  
  
Alfred leans forward a little. His hand closes more tightly on his stomach. It is evident that the pain has not stopped afflicting him but, as he always has, he remains stoic in front of him.  
  
“Wessex, it's all that matters now. If the dream of an England ever comes true, Wessex will have been the foundation for its creation.”  
  
For long seconds, none says more. Alfred finally wrapped in his physical pain and Uthred in a pain hard to name. A pain that has accompanied him during the years that he has served the king but that now seems to manifest with all its weight. He only has one last chance ...  
  
Only one last chance before being enveloped by that strange suffering, which at times turns into despair, disappointment and anguish.  
  
“I want to talk to the man. I do not wish to speak to the king. I want to talk to you.”  
  
The tone in his voice was hardly a faint reflection of what it used to be. Words spoken quickly, like a litany, like a pleading.  
  
“I want to talk about what happened that day.”  
  
It is as if he had insulted him. As if they were suddenly in his court and he had blasphemed his God. Alfred watches him, first incredulous, then visibly upset. His mouth opens, but no words seem to be able to come out of it.  
  
“ Another oath that you are going to break today. You promised never to mention what happened in Somerset again.” He finally answers, standing up with difficulty. Uthred does the same.  
  
“I made that promise to the king. But you are no longer my king.”  
  
Uthred ignores the tiny expression of pain that streaks across Alfred's features. Close the distance between the two, until their faces are inches from each other.  
  
“I want to know. Tell me the truth about what happened that day" He whispers in a voice so insecure that it seems inappropriate for him.  
  
Alfred seems, for the first time in all the time they've known each other, to be speechless. For a few seconds his hands tighten the fur covering his body, his brow furrowing every second, until he finally takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he speaks again, he does so in a soft but firm voice that does not reflect his shock at all.  
  
“Every day I pray to God to forgive me for having yielded to my disgusting inclinations. I beg his guide to be able to live with memories that I would like to erase from my mind. That's the truth.”  
  
Uthred holds his gaze for a tense instant. With icy certainty, he finds himself unable to find in Alfred's eyes a trace of what he desperately wants to find. Finally, as if something has cracked inside him, he turns around unable to continue holding his gaze.  
  
Once again, he feels the anguish closing his throat and he knows that this time is final. The pain that had always slept inside him since they met, opens his jaws and devours him whole. He moans like a wounded animal.  
  
In a second of revelation, Uthred loses all desire to continue arguing. In that second he has understood that he is fighting a desperate man. Alfred is about to die, so he has done everything possible to give continuity to what he has created. It's not about him, not even his pride.  
  
But more fundamentally, he understands that he has always been a tool for an end in Alfred's eyes. He was not worth for himself but for what he could give to a dream too ambitious for a single man.  
  
With defeated steps he goes outside. He doesn't want to talk anymore.  
  
*  
  
When he re-enters the hut he notices that the king is still in bed. The crown again rests on his head. He has made no move to escape or reveal himself in the face of his situation. Instead, his clasped hands and closed eyes indicate that he is praying. Next to him, the remains of one of the rats. The other is intact.  
  
Uthred feels different. As if in the interval of a few hours, he had suddenly aged for years. Gone is the bold young man with sharp comments and sarcastic smiles. With a hint of bitterness, he thinks that Alfred has managed to take that away from him too.  
  
"I will not take you to the Danes," he says, interrupting the king's prayers. Alfred opens his eyes, focusing his attention on him. If his words have surprised him in any way, he does not show it. His expression is as impassive as ever.  
  
“ I have noticed that two knights are prowling the area. They haven't seen me.” He says while looking for the king's clothes. A strong smoke smell permeates them but otherwise they are finally dry. They are thrown to him without care.  
  
“Hurry up or you will lose them.”  
  
He turns around to finally leave the place. Upon reaching the door frame, he forces himself to turn to see him. Alfred watches him with an expression difficult to decipher. There is something about him that suddenly turns out to be incredibly fragile.  
  
They both hold each other's gaze for a few seconds. They know it will be the last time.

To be continue...


	3. Treason

The bones in his back make a loud snap as he finally gets off the horse to stretch his legs. He ties the animal to the nearest tree and then search among his belongings for the dried meat. Arthur swears under his breath. There are only a handful pieces left for both of them.  
  
They hoped to find some food there, but the village had signs of having been abandoned long ago. He prepares to savor the last piece of food he will have in some time when ...  
  
"Arthur!" Arthur rolls his eyes. Edmund shouts his name even though he is only a few meters away from him.  
  
“Look at that Arthur!”  
  
Arthur looks in the direction the other is pointing. A man approaches them with wandering steps.  
  
"Is he who I think he is?" Asks his partner unnecessarily. He quickly stores the meat.  
  
They have never seen the King of Wessex in person. But the crown on his head is unmistakable. The news of the kidnapping had quickly swept through the kingdom. It was a scandal. Dozens of knights, including themselves, had had to track him down.  
  
"It seems to be our lucky day." Arthur concludes, completely forgetting his tense muscles and heading with his horse towards the king.  
  
“Lord!” Arthur hurries to position himself near the king “Are you all right?”  
  
The king is in such a deplorable state that if it weren't for the crown on his head, they would never have said that the man in front of them was a monarch.  
  
Edmund follows closely, his mare has always been a little slower.  
  
"The pagan, Uthred? Is he still around?" He asks, unable to avoid the nervous glances around them.  
  
“He fled.” Alfred responds dryly. His gaze shifting from one to the other.  
  
“I need your help. I need to go back to Winchester.” He points out diligently, without wasting time.  
  
“Of course.” Arthur gets off the horse to make room for the king. Edmund continues to track the surroundings. The reputation of the pagan commander of the Wessex army, too well known to ignore it.  
  
"Are you sure he ran away? Why would he ...?"  
  
“Your highness needs to get to Winchester.” Arthur presses him stopping his question. “We must hurry.”  
  
*  
  
Several hours elapse of horseback riding and banal talk. Arthur and Edmund, his rescuers, belong to a small town in the extreme north of Wessex, almost on the border with Mercia. They have been attacked several times by the Vikings so their sympathy for them is nule.  
  
“They looted everything they could and then set the villa on fire. They caught us off guard ...” explains Arthur as he walks holding the reins of the horse where the king is.  
  
“It was the day of the feast of Saint Jean.” Edmund adds quickly. “We did not expect any attack.”  
  
Alfred grimaces. Riding in his condition became more tortuous every day. His greatest wish was to return to Winchester as soon as possible. Looking around, they border a river that has grown considerably due to recent rains. The waters run rapidly southward. They are going in the opposite direction.  
  
“History teaches us that we must be ready to be attacked at any time.”  
  
Edmund and Arthur watch him. It is the first time he has spoken since they met. Edmund smiles.  
  
“Your highness understands perfectly. After Uthred's betrayal, the heathen ...”  
  
“Edmund!” Arthur rebukes him before he can continue.  
  
“Excuse my partner, my Lord. We are not used to dealing with royalty.” Arthur apologizes for the two of them, making a small nod.  
  
Alfred sets his weary gaze on him. Then he shakes his head and refocuses his attention on the road.  
  
“On the contrary, certainly his words are not devoid of truth. Uthred's betrayal has revealed to me that one should not trust a man, no matter how useful he may be to fulfill the goals of his nation.”  
  
“Amen.” Both sentence.  
  
*  
  
At dusk they decide to camp on the river bank. Arthur has been lucky. All three feed on two trouts that he has been able to catch. The knights remain near the fire. The nights have started to get colder. Winter is almost upon them.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to get any closer, my lord?" Fire will help you fight the cold.”  
  
Alfred, who is a few meters further away, shakes his head.  
  
“No thanks. Given my condition, it is better that I stay away so as not to interrupt your rest in case I have to go to the trees.”  
  
Edmund nods. An hour later, the three are lying in their makeshift beds ready to sleep.  
  
Alfred waits a reasonable time, until he can hear the heavy breaths and the light snores. Stealthily, he stands up trying to make as little noise as possible. The leaves are his enemies. They cover the forest floor, creaking every footstep despite his efforts.  
  
"Is everything all right, my Lord?" Edmund's thick voice asks as soon as he reaches the first tree line.  
  
“Yes” He responds quickly in a whisper.”Only the call of nature.”  
  
Edmund makes an unintelligible noise before turning away from him. Alfred waits a few minutes before moving on to the horses.  
  
The river has given him the information he needed. They are effectively moving north and not south towards Winchester. Without a doubt, his "rescuers" are going to sell him to the Danes. This is his chance to escape.  
  
Arthur's horse greets him with a slight snort as soon as he approaches him. He has already ridden it during the day so he has earned his trust. With trembling hands from the cold, he unties the leash that ties the animal to the tree. His numb fingers tug awkwardly, but soon manage to free him.  
  
Now only the most difficult remains. Lately, he has only been able to get on his mount with help. His mind brings Steapa's face to him with yearning hopelessness. He misses the knight's help at the moment. The first attempt is unsuccessful. His leg is not even close to surrounding the animal. The second, on the other hand, raises him higher but he still cannot finish climbing. The animal moves a few centimeters due to the actions of its clumsy rider. Alfred takes a breath. The fire in his belly reproaching him for the effort. In a silent prayer he asks God for help, he rises in the air and then ...  
  
A strong blow to his back makes him hit the horse which escapes scared by the sudden movement. Alfred is disoriented. He does not understand why the sudden pain in his back, until from his position on the ground he sees Arthur's boots.  
  
"How much have you been promised for turning your back on your king ?! For betraying the kingdom of Wessex ?!" exclaims Alfred with barely contained fury.  
  
“MUCH MORE THAN WESSEX HAS GIVEN US IN ALL OUR LIFE OF SERVICE!”  
  
Arthur looks disjointed, his expression radiating rage. Suddenly, there is nothing left of the respectful gentleman.  
  
"We have been attacked, not once, but countless times ..." Edmund explains a few steps back.  
  
Alfred still has a hard time processing the situation.  
  
“Wessex is the last kingdom free from the Viking threat. I have made sure of ... “  
  
“Sorry your highness, but our village is in the limits with Mercia. Do you think that pagans worry about issues like borders?”  
  
Alfred is suddenly silent. Mercia. He has focused his fight so much on Wessex that he has somehow naively believed that the Vikings would think twice before trespassing its borders. Error.  
  
"We have been forgotten ..." Arthur replies, running one of his hands through his hair, a little calmer.  
  
“And for that reason you will sell your loyalty to the highest bidder.”  
  
“We have no alternative. You will die soon. We cannot risk waiting for the protection of your son, a future king who may also forget us.”  
  
Arthur spits on the ground. Courtesy and deference far outweighed by outrage.  
  
“We must live today. Our children are hungry today. So if you don't mind standing up, Your Highness. We have a long way to go to Northumbria.”  
  
Arthur takes him hard from his clothes to get him to his feet, but then something unusual happens. The knight somehow seems to freeze in the middle of his action. He loosens the clothes of Alfred, who, unbalanced by the action, falls back onto the leaves. He is about to question the knight's actions, when a dew of warm blood bathes his face. Then he understands.  
  
Uthred moves like a demon through the trees. He removes the blade from Arthur's dying body to direct himself as an exhalation towards the second knight who cannot escape his stupefaction at the scene. Uthred catches up with him before he can even run. He places the sharp blade against his neck and is about to cut it when Alfred's voice stops him.  
  
“UTHRED, NO!”  
  
Edmund takes the opportunity to ask for mercy. The silence interrupted only by his whimpers.  
  
“Please, please, we needed to eat ...”

  
Uthred's labored breathing raises vapor at the freezing night, giving him a supernatural appearance. He looks at Alfred for a few seconds. He knows that look. The king closes his eyes before the blade buries itself in the knight's flesh without mercy.  
  
Soon, the night returns to its cold silence. For long seconds, nothing else happens.  
  
Alfred opens his eyes to the sound of footsteps approaching. Uthred extends one of his hands towards him. Alfred wishes he could reject him. To be able to verbalize all his rage in a comment hurtful enough to drive the Dane out of his life once and for ever. He can't.  
  
He receives the help that is offered to him, standing up with difficulty. Uthred helps him ride. Together, again, they head back to the village. Silence surrounds them throughout the journey.

To be continue..


	4. Fragile Desires

Uthred helps him dismount. It is the first direct interaction they have after long hours of silent riding. Alfred has been stoic the whole way, but he feels exhausted. Uthred notices the weakness in his body when makes contact with him to help him. The king's steps lack firmness and he leans heavily against his side so as not to lose his balance.

As soon as Alfred lays on the bed of the hut, Uthred hurries with the fire. He collects all the firewood he can and makes a pile in the center of the place. After a few minutes, a small fire crackles between the two. It's almost dark.

Uthred's mind is blank. For long minutes, all he can do is watch the flames. He doesn't know what to think. Once again, he has acted on impulse. But apparently that is his way of acting when the king is involved. By force, he has discovered that Alfred mobilizes unknown parts of himself. That change his usual confidence, making him insecure and fearful.

Sobs

It is the sobs from the king that bring him back to reality. Alfred emits a stifled cry. A cry that moves something inside Uthred. That leads him to act and mobilizes him.

Uthred takes one of the furs. He walks over to where Alfred is lying and then slowly leans back next to him, wrapping both of them with his fur like a makeshift blanket.

One of his arms surrounds the king. Through his touch he can feel each of the chills that assail him. Uthred make circles on to the monarch's back. A gesture that seeks to comfort him while giving him warmth. Alfred's body convulses slightly at the touch, but he doesn't pull away.

Long minutes pass like this, without saying a word. If not for the small fire, the darkness that surrounds them would be total.

"Why?" Alfred's voice is weak. It can hardly be heard despite the stillness of the night.

Uthred has become so used to the silence that has enveloped them so far, that suddenly the words seem strange to him. For long moments, it takes time to understand its meaning.

“Why are you still with me?”

It is a simple question that, however, requires an overly complex answer. Uthred is not a complex man. He never has been. His intention has always been to retake Bebbanburg. Retrieve his title and land. But..

At some point, he met the future King of Wessex. Allied with him. He saw him be crowned. Win and lose battles. He met his anger, his disappointment, his mistrust. He came to hate him. But also..

Somewhere, in the damp Wessex lands, he met Alfred. He met the man, vulnerable to the danger of the Danes, worried about his son's health, desperate at the possibility of losing everything.

And he knew his confidence when listening to his strategies, his courage in not fleeing to Frankia, his joy in winning the battle..

Then there was something in Uthred, something that began to change in him and he could no longer go back. He could no longer think only of himself.

And that was it.

But how?

How to explain something so complex in an answer? How to explain something that even he did not fully understand? That spoke of a part of him barely known?

“I could not abandon you.” Uthred speaks against the nape of the king. His words drowned by the proximity.

“I just couldn't.”

Alfred flinches again. Uthred pulls him tighter against him.

*

The hours pass, in its slow but incessant march. The fire is almost extinguished. Uthred feels he should get up to fuel it, but he can't muster the will to do it. They have managed to accumulate some heat between the bodies. Alfred has stopped shaking. At times, Uthred wonders if he has fallen asleep when he suddenly feels him stir under his arm. Alfred turn his body sideways to see him directly. In the darkness that surrounds them, his features are fuzzy, almost ghostly.

“I have tried.. I have looked for the way to ..”

The king seems to be entangled in his thoughts. Uthred understands that he is not the only one to whom the closeness of the other makes him act in ways other than himself.

Alfred closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, letting it go in a soft sigh. The warm breath gently bathes the warrior's face.

“Beocca told me one day that God put temptations to test us.” Alfred seeks his gaze in the gloom.

“And then he sent the pagans to punish us for falling into them.”

For a few seconds, he says no more. Outside, the song of an owl is heard at night. The wind whispers through the trees.

"How can this be possible?" The king continues after a moment.

“How can it be possible that God has sent temptation and punishment in the same person?”

Uthred can't see him clearly, but he feels the intensity of his gaze on him. Alfred waits for an answer. He always waits. As if he were capable of responding to ancient truths. To knowledge that could only be accessible to truly devoted individuals. Uthred responds with the truth he knows.

"I don't know what the rules of your God are." He whispers close to his lips. “But certainly, I have not come to punish you.”

Uthred takes his mouth in a kiss that takes their breath away. It is not a desperate kiss. Rather, it is slow and tentative. Soft and gentle in its course. But somehow it has the strength to leave them both with racing hearts and dizziness in their bodies.

It is a kiss that has been longed for too long. For too many years. That it has resisted, impassive, the innumerable situations in which it could have occurred and it was not. That makes way for something that finally appears in all its expression.

There is something that changes. It is not like that day in Somerset, where their encounter could be justified by the immeasurable gratitude of having saved the life of the Wessex heir, by the recent joint victory, by the post-battle glow.

In Somerset their first and only encounter had had to be desperate and fleeting. Quick, with furtive glances at the entrance of the tent and extreme alert to the sound of footsteps outside. It had had to be faster than rational thought, than prudence, than faith ...

Only a meeting of bodies and not of souls.

An encounter that would be recorded as a wound forever between the two. As something that could never happen again. What could not be talked about. No matter how much they both yearned for it ..

Now instead...

There was no joy after a recent battle, there was no mitigating alcohol that poisoned their judments.

There was no need to rush, to hide, to fear retaliation.

The conscience and rationality in the face of the madness they committed could appear at any moment and still ...

Still, Uthred is dedicated to loving Alfred like never before. He dedicates himself to revere his body weakened by the disease, to kiss his lips over and over again.

Alfred clings to him as if there is nothing else. As if he had nothing but Uthred in the world. He accept him. As Uthred becomes one with him, he feels that a part of himself wishes he could tell him about forgiveness, about the anguish caused by having hurt him so many times, in so many possible ways. He wishes to confess his secret envy of his strength, his indomitable spirit, his loyalty.

Words never come out of his mouth. Instead, he uses what little strength his body has left, to let him know.

*

When Alfred wakes up so does a little terror in him. It is still night, but the heat of Uthred's body has disappeared. The fire has been rekindled and is crackling gently, no doubt the work of Uthred. However, there are no traces of the warrior in the hut. The feeling of abandonment grows at an embarrassing speed in him until he hears the door open.

Uthred returns. Small snowflakes adorn the Danish clothes and hair.

Alfred reproaches himself internally. After all they've been through, he should already know that Uthred always comes back.

“I've got these.” He says pointing to a few nuts in his hand “It won't be a great meal, but at least they will give us strength for tomorrow's ride.”

Alfred looks at him questioningly. Uthred averts his gaze, entertaining himself with adding fuel to the fire.

"Tomorrow I will escort you back to Winchester.Then I will march to Northumbria.”

Alfred cannot stop the feeling of abandonment from returning with renewed strength. A stab in his belly acts as a reflection of his feelings. Of course it is the most correct plan. The only possible plan if he wants to end his days as king. If he wants the dream of a united England not to die with him. But..

The prospect of ending his last days without the presence of Uthred at his side, suddenly makes them acquire a darkness difficult to bear. The frustration of always having to go against his wishes turns into silent fury.

In some way, Uthred seems to be able to perceive the anguish caused by his internal struggle. So he sits next to him. The closeness of his body acting as a warm balm against the tortuous future. His hands crush the nuts. Alfred takes the pieces that are offered to him. He is not hungry, but he forces himself to eat anyway.

"You shouldn't have killed those knights." Alfred says after a few minutes in silence. From the periphery of his vision, he notices Uthred rolling his eyes. Snorting, he drops onto the bed.

“They had to be put on trial ... besides, Wessex needs all the help he can get.”

Uthred sits up on his forearms. Indignation as a feeling eternally present in their exchanges.

“They were traitors!”

“Like you.”

"I've never betrayed you! I simply abandoned your service!"

He doesn't say "I abandoned you." Although, the idea is strongly implicit in the air. Suddenly, the environment becomes heavy. At this, Uthred falls back heavily onto the bed. The certainty that he can never understand Alfred, never failed to frustrate him.

"They were going to sell their king to the enemies." He replies more calmly. "They are not the kind of people Wessex needs."

"Do you care about Wessex now?" Alfred squints at him, raising an eyebrow. There is something strange about him. An improper need for a fight in his usually contained personality.

Then Uthred understands it. There is a frustration in Alfred that goes beyond his reproach. The king suffers and not only for obvious reasons. Given this revelation, a warm sensation lodges in the chest of the Dane.

“I care about you. I always have and I can say it. Those are the advantages of being a pagan, I do not have to hide what I feel from myself.”

Uthred sighs sick of that useless tug-of-war game with the king. The hours counting too fast to waste what little time they have left.

“I can't turn my back on how I feel about you. I have tried and failed. I can only accept it.”

Uthred extends his hand towards the king. A silent truce. The seconds pass. For a moment, Uthred fears that Alfred will reject him. However, to his surprise, a faint smile shows on his features before taking his hand, settling beside him. Uthred places a kiss on the king's forehead.

"You know it's much more complex than just religion, right?" Alfred weakly asks, clasping his hands over Uthred's chest.

“I know.”

Neither of them sleep. They just lie there, their bodies in contact, their hands clasped in an eternal moment. Impossible.

Uthred brushes the reddish cloth that covers the body of the monarch. He hasn't been able to touch him in too many years and now his hands seem to want to make up for lost time. Occasionally, he takes his mouth in deep, languid kisses. Alfred allows it. Let Uthred do whatever he wants with him.

He will never say it out loud, he can never really admit it, but his is his trust, his faith and ultimately his soul.

What they feel is as ambitious as Alfred's dreams. A connection that goes through them and exceeds them. How wonderful it would be if they weren't Alfred king of Wessex and Uthred of Bebbanburg. What dreams and illusions could be traced if they were different people, at different times, in different lives.

*

The dawn is not interested in the fragile desires of men. A pale and phantasmagoric sun sneaks into a leaden sky. The cold is again present in their lives. It's time to leave.

They are enlisting. Alfred adjusts his clothes, removes the traces of hay from the cloth that covers him.

Everything happens at too slow speed. As if time was holding its breath. As if suddenly only the two of them existed in the world.

Uthred finds himself putting out the fire, the gray smoke hissing in the room, when, like a lightning bolt in a storm, a certainty tears him apart. 

This will be the last time he will see Alfred.

Alfred will die.

And so..

He can not do it.

“Uthred?” Alfred calls him, concern in his words. But it is as if he did it from too far away.

Uthred is unable to move. The remains of the fire, smoking under his boots. His sight is clouded, his throat burns. Can't breathe. His heart flutters wildly. Despair gradually taking his sanity. There is no more air in the world, there is only darkness around him. He knows that just means dying. There is no other explanation. Can not..

Alfred's hands are on his face. Cold, fragile, they hold him. His voice speaks his name. He calls him, summons him, orders him. Like a king to his oathman. Uthred obeys. Ultimately, despite everything, he always obeys him.

For a brief second he calms down, the cascade of sensations seems to stop.

Take a breath of air. Like a shipwrecked man rescued from the sea.

But then memories of his days as a slave at sea creep into his thoughts. Halig. Halig's death. His fault. It was his fault. No, he can't think about it now. He is no longer a slave, he is no longer a victim of his circumstances.

And yet he cannot stop that thought from assaulting him, because he still is. He is still a victim of a circumstance that he will not be able to avoid, the death of Alfred.

"Uthred of Bebbanburg!" Alfred's voice brings him back to reality. His foreheads in contact and perhaps it is that, more than the sound of his voice, that ends up pulling him out of the dangerous whirlwind of his thoughts.

Uthred presses his forehead against the monarch. He doesn't understand that he cries until Alfred gently caresses his face.

*

Upon his return to Winchester, Alfred's health will deteriorate rapidly. There will be no other demand for loyalty to his son. There will be no forgiveness, no edicts, no last minute decisions.

Uthred will not be forced to give his life to someone else. This is perhaps one of the few selfish decisions the king will have made during his regency. What they have built, what they have forged, what they have felt ..

It will be kept only by the two of them.

His last words, those that his wife will never be able to hear,will speak of truths. Of his dream and his love.

*

The celebrations will catch up with him on a gray and rainy morning, too similar to that morning when they last saw each other. The castle will echo with shouts of joy and curses spoken out loud.

THE KING IS DEAD!

That day will be one of celebration and triumph. Of beer, excesses and games. A victory for the Viking people.

Uthred will leave Northumbria that same day. Ragnar will try to convince him to stay unsuccessfully. Brida will not be able to erase the disappointment from her face for several weeks. She will curse, shout insults, speak of treason and selfishness. Uthred will be a topic of conversation between the two for long nights. The two will continue caring about him, despite never being able to understand him.

Uthred will attempt to retake Bebbanburg the following year. Armed with less than half the men who guard the castle, his behavior will go from bold to reckless.

It will be a shame that his men do not know. It will be a shame they do not understand that since Alfred died, the world of Uthred has become diffuse. As if a permanent mist covered it constantly. That emotions, that events, that risk ..

That things must have a greater intensity so that they can reach him. They won't know, and that will be a tragedy.

End


End file.
